


How Long is a Marathon?

by Slantedlight (BySlantedlight)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-07 00:33:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6777205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BySlantedlight/pseuds/Slantedlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The lads can't help but be a bit out of breath...</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Long is a Marathon?

Doyle pushed himself over to lie on his back, breathing heavily. “How long was a marathon, again?”

“About twenty six miles.” Bodie didn’t sound as if he was in much better condition.

“Yeah, but they do it in under three hours, don’t they? The winners? We’re well past that.” 

“Less than two and a quarter if they’re good. You bottling out on me, Raymond? Need some Lucozade?”

“You’ve got Lucozade stashed away?”

Bodie reached over, stretching slightly so that the muscles in his back were momentarily defined, and Doyle watched appreciatively. Sure enough, when he turned back, he was clutching a bright orange bottle, and twisting the cap.

Doyle closed his eyes, held out his hand.

“Uh-uh-uh… Wait for it, son…”

“Come on Bod… _ie_!” The Lucozade was no longer cold, but it was a surprise on his bare skin. He opened his eyes and lifted his head just in time to see Bodie grin and swoop down to his stomach, then he felt the rough wet velvet touch of Bodie’s tongue on his skin, a long glide downwards, pausing to chase an errant dribble towards the bed sheets, then back up again, lapping at him, lower… lower... He could have sworn he was done in, couldn’t rise to any occasion at all, but his cock twitched appreciatively, and he let himself relax back again with a sigh. 

Bodie took what was left of him into his mouth, steadying himself with his hands on Doyle’s hips, one of them pressing the bottle harder and harder against him, as he sucked harder and deeper, and more and…

He swore he heard cheering somewhere in the rush and pleasure of what was almost too much, was so good that it was almost pain, so that he could barely move even to open his eyes as he felt Bodie above him, reaching down to take hold of his own cock, felt its hardness momentarily pressed against his thigh as Bodie shifted on the bed. He was in time to see Bodie’s face as he came, mouth opening, to feel himself marked again, the warmth and stickiness of Bodie collapsing against him, and…

He was just in time to save the bottle of Lucozade as it tipped, managed to hold it loosely in his hand as…

Sleep.

Lips on his, strangely sweet, moist, as though…

Doyle opened his eyes, and Bodie drew back, grinned down at him, eyes crinkling in the corners the way they did when he was really pleased with himself.

“Wakey-wakey Raymond - we’re still only up to four - twenty two to go!” He lifted the bottle of Lucozade and drank from it, then ducked down for another kiss.

“’m not sure this is what the Greeks ‘ad in mind,” Doyle managed, when Bodie pulled back again.

“I think it’s _exactly_ what the Greeks had in mind…” Bodie trailed his hand down Doyle’s chest, let it rest on his stomach for a moment, and then slid it downwards again.

Doyle groaned, and turned onto his side, closed his eyes again in case Bodie would let him fall back into beautiful sleep… “You’re incorrigible, you are.”

“If you’ve got the energy for five syllables…”

“I ‘aven’t got the energy for anything, thanks to you.” You could have wrung him out and hung him up to dry, he thought, and right now he wouldn’t care. The bed was soft under him, the pillow was just right, and Bodie was there beside him.

“Just as well you didn’t let Jax persuade you to run then, isn’t it? Go on, admit it - you’re much happier doing the marathon with me.”

Bodie settled down on the mattress beside him, wriggling until Doyle was tucked more tightly into him, curved around Bodie’s shoulder, breathing the skin of Bodie’s neck, the Bodie-smell of him.

“You said you’d entered us,” he said yet again, an old complaint with lots of wear left in it. “You promised me a marathon.”

“Never said what kind though, did I?”

“A _sexual marathon_ …”

“I’m the one should be complaining - you’re never going to make the distance at this rate!” Bodie almost sounded genuinely indignant. Well two could play at that game.

“Never going to get a medal for this though, am I - what’s the point trying to finish if there’s no medal?”

“I’ve got you a chocolate one. And one for me. _If_ you put a bit of effort in, and…”

“I’m pacing myself… ‘ow long have we got before Monday?”

“What time is it?”

Doyle’s arm was lying on Bodie’s chest - he could just about manage to turn his wrist to check… “Just after midnight.”

“Fifty four hours.” Bodie reached up with his own arm, tangled his fingers through Doyle’s, and gave his own sigh. “Suppose we could take a breather…”

“Not due the next mile for another couple of hours,” Doyle agreed. “Best take it easy…” He could hear Bodie’s heartbeat, pounding steady beneath his ear, better any day than the sound of trainers on tarmac, though he wasn’t going to tell Bodie that, not when he’d promised to enter them for the London Marathon, the first ever one, not when he’d got him here under false pretences, not when Doyle had absolutely no intention of leaving Bodie’s bed until the very last runner had made it home, and the weekend was over, and he absolutely had to. 

He fell asleep with Bodie warm and still beside him, and dreamed that they were crossing the finish line together, because one way or another, deep down he knew that they were.


End file.
